Antiphony
by Windsong
Summary: Green/Lyra- tokiwashipping. In which Lyra follows in Red's footsteps on the mountaintop, and Green has to convince /her/ to come down, too.


**Title:** Antiphony  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,636  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Romance, Drama, Character Study  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Green/Lyra, ninja!Red/Leaf. Green's always chasing other people. Finally, he decides that enough is enough.  
><strong>Author's Notes:<strong> There are some tense issues in this fic, so I'm sorry in advance. For this prompt: _"In which Kotone follows in Red's footsteps on the mountaintop, and Green has to convince _her _to come down, too."_

* * *

><p>Green thinks he spends entirely too much time on mountains.<p>

He's tired of it. He's tired of struggling through snow and clambering over rocks. He's tired of carrying packs full of supplies and breathing in air that grows thinner by the minute. He doesn't want to do this anymore. _He doesn't want to do this anymore._

He's done his part for three long years. He helped Red play the martyred hero, and what does he have to show for it now? An empty inbox and a collection of unreturned phone calls. Now Red's in Sinnoh with Leaf, finding new challengers to fight and new legendaries to catch. He _still_ doesn't call his mom, that asshole.

And now Lyra is doing the same thing, and you know what? Green is too.

—

He hadn't known anything was wrong at first. Red had just showed up at his gym one day, off the mountain for the first time in three years. "Lyra," he had said, and Green had grinned. _Lyra._ The young girl had caught his attention when she'd won his badge; she had the energy, the spark he'd been looking for. He had told her about Mt. Silver and Red, hoping that she'd finally give his rival a reason to come down—and she had, and he had.

He called Lyra to congratulate her, but it went to her voice mail.

Red crashing on his couch had been awkward at first, and then comfortable. Mostly, Green was relieved that he didn't have to climb that damn mountain anymore. But the former champion vanished a few weeks later without a note or even a good-bye; all he left behind were muddy footprints on the carpet.

When Red had showed up at his doorstep, he'd thought—well, it didn't matter what he'd thought. Obviously, he had been wrong. Green, furious, cleaned up and moved on with his life. Three years. Three years of worrying and waiting and hard work. Three years of his life that he'd never get back, given to a man who'd never even spared a glance in his direction—who used him up and dropped him like he'd never even mattered. It didn't matter where Red went; he was done. He wasn't doing this anymore. He had his _own _life, and it was complicated enough without keeping someone else alive on top of it.

But he was still waiting for Lyra to call back, and eventually Ethan called him instead.

"Have you heard from her?" the younger man asked, his worry carrying through the phone line. In his mind's eye, Green saw the boy taking off his cap and raking his hand through his hair, squinting at the sun. "I haven't heard from her in weeks, and I can't find her anywhere. She was supposed to meet me at..."

The gym leader frowned briefly, thinking, before his brain put two and two together.

"...and Professor Elm said—"

"That stupid bitch," he spat, shocking Ethan into silence. "It's happening _again._"

And there she had been, at the top of the mountain, just as he had expected. She was even standing on his dais with her Typhlosion beside her.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he snarled, swiping snow off of his jacket. She blinked up at him.

"Oh, hello," she replied.

"What's wrong with Indigo Plateau?" he demanded, ignoring her. "Or New Bark Town? Or _anywhere_ with _central heating?_"

She'd merely smiled. "I like it here," she said. "I can concentrate."

Green stared.

Lyra cocked her head, looking mildly confused. "Don't you like it here?"

The Gym Leader barked out a laugh. "I can't feel my feet. You want to know if I _like _it here?"

"You came up all the time—"

"For Red," he interrupted. "I did it for Red. And I won't do it for you." He turned his back, striding out of the cave. "You want to get hypothermia, you fucking do it by yourself."

He was back in two weeks.

—

"This is the last time," he growls, throwing the bag near her feet. Lyra's indulgent smile makes him wish, just for a moment, that he'd thrown it _at_ her. But no—this was Lyra. Not Red.

"Thank you," she says, pulling the bag open. "How's Ethan?"

"Ask him yourself," he snaps, sitting down next to her and taking a sandwich out of the bag. If she were Red, he would have handed it to him, silently demanding that he eat first. Instead, he bites into it. Lyra can take care of herself. And, much to his annoyance, she _does._

She isn't Red. She makes conversation and laughs at his jokes and has yet to catch a single cold. She accepts his blankets and wears enough layers and sometimes even makes him tea. She never forgets to call. And that only makes it worse.

When they battle, Green can see her pulling away from him by leaps and bounds. When he leaves, she waves goodbye, never once asking him to stay. "I'm not lonely," she says gaily when he asks. "I've got my Pokémon to keep me company! Are you coming next week?"

She's not Red, but she's getting pretty damn close, and Green's not interested in repeating his mistakes.

Lyra leans comfortably against his shoulder, watching the fire. It's been like this for almost a year; a year of Green doing everything he can think of—short of pleading—and Lyra just smiling at him. Just. Smiling.

"I'm serious," Green says. "I'm done." He takes another savage bite, chews, swallows. Lyra waits. She's grown more taciturn, but she's still bubbly and optimistic under the surface. She gets very few challengers. Almost no one makes it past him with his badge, and he knows that no one will come to replace her, not yet. Not even that red-haired kid can knock her off her pedestal.

Green hates that someone has to replace her at all.

Lyra eats her sandwich without comment. "Have you called your mom?" he asks.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why don't you pay her a visit?"

She says nothing.

"I'm not coming tomorrow," he says, not sure she understands. "Or next week. Or next month. You're on your own."

She looks up at him finally, a smear of mustard on her cheek. "Why?"

"Why?" he cries, incredulous. "_Why?_ Jesus Christ, Lyra, I've got a _life._ I have a gym to run. I've got things to do. I spend more time up here on this goddamn mountain than I do with my _trainers._ Some days I get home and I'm too tired to _move_ but I've still got to climb up this fucking mountain the next day to make sure you're not _dead_." His voice cracks, and he hates himself for it. "And what happens if you get in trouble? What am I supposed to d—"

He stops when he sees Lyra's quiet, sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He snorts, jerking away from her. "No, you're not." He gets up, leaving the pack. "Good-bye, Lyra. And you know what? Good luck."

He doesn't look back.

—

In Viridian, the weather is beautiful; eighty degrees and not a drop of humidity, perfectly sunny and most of all, _warm._

Despite this, he snarls and pushes his trainers harder than he has in years, and brutally defeats those who challenge his gym. Eevee curls up with him at night and doesn't comment on his temper. No one else does, either.

Ethan calls. Silver calls. Even Daisy calls. Everyone asks about Lyra, and he tells them all to ask _her, _he doesn't know, and goddamnit, he doesn't care.

When Lyra calls, Green takes a vindictive pleasure in not answering at all.

—

Those muddy footprints on his doorstep are Lyra's; he'd recognize them anywhere. So he's not surprised when he opens the door and finds her sitting on his couch.

He glances at her, acknowledging her presence, before he goes to drop some things on the counter. Then he pulls a TV dinner out of the freezer and tosses it in the microwave. The silence stretches. Lyra shifts awkwardly. Green taps a finger, arms folded as he watches the rotating box.

When the microwave beeps, Lyra nearly leaps out of her skin.

"The wonders of modern technology," he mutters, coming back into the living room with his food in one hand. He plunks down next to her on the sofa and begins to eat, staring pointedly at the blank TV.

She wilts a little.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down at her lap.

Suddenly, Green's tired of this game. He turns to look at her and, when she looks up, flicks her on the forehead. Then he shoves the plate at her and gets to his feet.

"Eat," he says.

Lyra's smile feels like sunshine on his back as he goes to get more food.

—

"How long are you staying?" Green remembers to ask, after she's done admiring his television but before he goes to bed. He's not interested in another hit-and-run.

Lyra looks lost amidst a pile of pillows and blankets. She's wearing one of his shirts, and he tries not to stare at her legs. "What do you mean?" she asks.

What did he mean. "One week? Two?"

"I thought...do you want me to go?"

"Do you plan to stay?"

"_You_ wanted me to come down," she reminds him softly.

She's a lot prettier with her hair down like this, Green decides.

"I want to stay," she says. He blinks at her, the tension slowly lifting from his shoulders.

Then he nods. "You can stay as long as you want," he says, surprised by how gentle his tone is.

She smiles and snuggles into the pillows. Green turns out the light. He doesn't say thank you, and he doesn't say good night.

He thinks that Lyra already knows.


End file.
